


Dark Side of the Dancefloor

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:31:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: Awsten goes to a nightclub to find... love? Sex? Salvation?A story also known as Sprite and Existential Terror.





	Dark Side of the Dancefloor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WednesdayAngeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayAngeline/gifts).



Everything happens in passing.

Light flashes for a second or two and then it's gone, it hurts to breathe in cold air but the momentary feeling of liberation that comes with it is worth too much not to do it; a human life only lasts a blink of an eye compared to how long the universe has been around. Awsten wonders how many more years until his body explodes into a gory mess of orange juice and sugary cereal, he wonders if he cares how many years he’s got left and finally decides he doesn’t, not quite.

It’s pointless to dwell on anything, really, Awsten ponders as he takes a walk on the dark side of the dancefloor, clutching a cold, tall glass of Sprite that could easily be mistaken for an alcoholic drink by others. He takes slow sips through a straw, freezing his brain one sip at a time, looking at people dancing and writhing to meaningless music but not really seeing them, sunglasses covering his eyes even though it's dark inside, making it even harder to see anything or anyone. It's good like that.

It's especially pointless to dwell on a heartbreak; you write it down, scream it out, move on. It’s pointless to stay up until the break of dawn, all alone, reinventing the world and every single part of it and coming up with nothing, but Awsten still does that way too often. He doesn't want to beat himself up over it though, so he tries another approach to finally stop thinking: he goes out to a loud, sweaty nightclub, scanning the mass of people for  _ something _ , someone to bring home, make his own, bestow feelings upon, even if just for one night. Restlessly, he searches for a spark, a connection, a calling, but everything is just loud pulsing beats and human flesh and beautiful features that fade away into two seconds of nothing.

So Awsten goes back to his Sprite and existential terror, standing way too quietly on the sidelines of life and nothing else happens until he needs to scratch his nose and lifts his sunglasses. That’s when he Sees.

Him.

Dancing, mere feet from where Awsten is standing. Graceful, like some invisible force is lifting him off the floor, but still grounded and manly. Tight jeans ripped on his skinny knees, a tank top exposing his perfectly toned arms. A shade of stubble. His hair, pulled back, half black, half something else. It’s hard to tell due to all the flashing lights.

Awsten runs a hand across his own face, breathing deep and hard.

There it is. An awakening.

Like there’s suddenly no time in the world to lose, he dumps his unfinished drink on the bar, pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and makes a bold move towards the dancefloor with only one goal in mind.  _ Him _ . Awsten squeezes into the dancing crowd seamlessly, well aware of the glow now lighting him up from the inside. He strides right in there with all the confidence under the sun and lets himself be noticed.

_ It's easy. Not that much different to being onstage,  _ he thinks, smiling hard and bright at the man who smiles back at him and doesn’t protest when Awsten joins their hands and pulls them out of the crowd like a tidal wave sweeping them both ashore.

The feeling of victory is intoxicating. Awsten doesn't believe in love at first sight but he believes in many other things, like art and retribution and the healing powers of great sex and that Cobra Starship’s first album was better than their second yet worse than their third. He is on the fence when it comes to believing in fate, but he’s got a hand firmly placed on the other man’s hip now and the man is gently touching Awsten’s purple hair. 

“What’s your name?”

“Awsten,” Awsten replies. “With a W where the U should be, and an E where the I should be. What’s yours?”

The man laughs, devious and hot. The part of his hair that isn’t black turns out to be vibrant red. His body radiates warmth. “Jawn.”

“John?” Awsten repeats, testing the way it sounds on his tongue, trying it out before he has to scream it out. 

“J-A-W-N. I guess we have a lot in common.” Jawn decides to fold his arms over his chest, only accentuating the muscles he’s adorned with, making Awsten’s breath get lost somewhere on the way. “Say, you wanna get out of here?”

The music is still mind-numbing, the masses are still sweaty and the world is still way too big, too fun, too tempting and too scary, but maybe some of these things will matter a little less tonight.  
  
_ Everything happens in passing _ , Awsten thinks, following Jawn out of the club and towards an adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my favorite Jawn stan, Wednesday. 
> 
> Let me know if you liked it, guys!
> 
> Waterparks trash at samrull.tumblr.com


End file.
